


Memo: Avengers Quarantine Procedures

by trilliath



Series: Avengers Quarantine Procedures [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A little roughness, Awkward Quarantine Situations, Cap Gets an Eyeful, Dubiously-Consensual Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, M/M, Neither is Coulson, Of course not, Oral Sex, PWP, Pre-Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, Steve's not Jealous Noooo, Superfriends with benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 03:19:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5075830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trilliath/pseuds/trilliath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Coulson arrives back at his desk after some Doombot wrangling, he discovers that in the meantime, after dealing with some pixie-dust obsessed mutant on the other side of the country, things have not been handled per regulations for the other half of the Avengers. It would appear that at least one junior field agent has failed to retain the information from the special procedures for Avengers quarantines because <i>someone</i> has placed Stark, Rogers, and Barton together in one lone quarantine chamber without clothing, privacy shields, or any form of necessary distractions.</p><p>Phil is rapidly downgrading his estimation of the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are three parts to this little series which feature three different relationships that result from one Quarantine-shaped catalyst. They can be read separately or together as desired.  
> 1: Clint/Tony (sexual, superfriends with benefits)  
> 2: Clint/Coulson (sexual and beginnings of a romantic relationship)  
> 3: Tony/Steve (sexual and beginnings of a romantic relationship)

"I'm so bored," Clint mutters for about the tenth time, tipping his head back against the plastic-covered wall of the decontamination tent. He turns a glare on the camera and mouths the word "bored" again as he points one finger to the side of his nose and twists. He draws the sign out to an appropriate distance to indicate the severity of his boredom. Phil is going to have someone's ass over this. That at least makes him smirk faintly. "Someone's in so much trouble," he sing-songs faintly at the camera.

"I'm bored _and_ cold. You'd think they'd get that it's cold in here, what with the whole _not giving us any clothes_ part," Tony grumbles pointedly at the camera. "I mean seriously, people, if you wanted to see my naked ass, all you had to do was ask," he continues, actual annoyance layered over by his usual veneer of mocking flirtation. "Or go on youtube. No need to forcibly arrange your own private voyeurism porno."

"Jeez, Tony," Cap hisses in reproach, spots of color deepening on his cheekbones as he glances Tony's way and then looks away again even more sharply.

Clint laughs with Stark at their oh-so-respectable leader, but when he glances over, he can see that Stark actually is starting to shiver a little bit. Clint's not really noticed it himself, because noticing these things is the opposite of useful for a sniper - at least in the gap before they become actual potential problems. But he's also a little cold. 'Course now that he's noticed he can't help but grimace over how much he is not a fan of the coldness factor. Especially because it's _stupid_.

It's one thing to be at this makeshift outpost and have limited resources because the Avengers are split up into two teams by ridiculous complicated circumstances. It's another to ignore the protocols because Coulson's off with the rest of the A-team and leave them naked and freezing in a little square box of a windowless room slapped together in the middle of nowhere just because some wannabe pixie mutant had blasted them with fairy dust and apparently nobody here has even a tenth of Coulson's competence. 

Not that he's bitter that Doombots had won their handler's priority assessment and left them in bum-fuck nowhere with some toddler of a handler Tony had immediately cut off their coms or anything.

" _Fuck_ it's cold," Tony says and shivers once head to toe.

Of course, Tony could curl up on himself like a normal person instead of laying on his back with his hands behind his head, legs crossed at the ankles with his junk on display like nude is his normal. Which, given the complete lack of tan-lines in his nicely bronzed complexion and the regular barely-clothed (boxers, the occasional towel, and on one notable occasion a single bedsheet) caffeine searches they've all been witness to in the tower, it probably is. Not that Clint is complaining. Because for the record, he is. So. Not. Complaining.

Cap looks like he might complain. He's standing in the other corner, half turned away from them so the best view they're getting is only half of his ass. His arms are crossed and his jaw is starting to get tight the way it does whenever he has a bone to pick with Tony. Which is mostly all the time lately.

His pale eyes keep flicking Tony's way, then darting back to scowl at the hastily-constructed corner like it personally offends Captain America in its crookedness. But they don't remain averted very long, and when they do slip back, this time Clint catches just how thoroughly they drag over Tony's proffered form. To Clint's very skilled eye, he looks for all the world like a man secretly wishing he knew a polite way to offer to serve as a naked human blanket.

Interesting. Also… not a bad idea in the slightest. Cure for two problems with one archer coming right up.

Clint unfolds himself from the huddled ball he's been lingering in, shifting his weight over his hip and scooting himself out towards the center of the room where Tony's lying. The move draws Tony's curious eyes from where they've been making their habitual idle study of Roger's form whenever Steve's not looking.

Despite the fact that Tony's made no secret of his particular appreciation in that regard, Clint's fine with wagering that in Tony's consideration a Hawkeye in hand is at least marginally better than a Captain America in a corner.

"Hey, wanna cuddle?" Clint suggests as he scoots close, sending him a salacious wink. "I've been reliably informed that my cuddles are good for raising the temperature of the room."

Tony laughs good-naturedly at the suggestion, but then lifts his head a little to look at Clint more fully, eyes assessing his features to gauge his seriousness. Clint leaves his face open and lets him look a moment, then slides a brief, appreciative glance over Tony's body, because honesty's only fair in these situations. It's a very appreciative look, because honest to god, Tony fuckin' Stark is laid out like a sushi plate and Clint's not the sort of guy to let an opportunity that good pass him by. Especially not if he can stick it to some dumbass junior agent too stupid to give them blankets at the same time by making mischief. In fact he's amazed he didn't think of this sooner.

Tony's face is unreadable a moment, then his eyebrows flick up.

"Well by my stars and stripes," Tony says, fluttering his lashes as he affects a southern belle tone. "I had no idea you walked the walk."

Clint joins in with the teasing tone and huffs as though wounded, pasting a look of affected woe on his face. "I'm hurt. Crushed. Are you telling me wearing my tightest tight pants and nipple-flashing-est vests and doing extra warm-up lunges has been going _unappreciated_ all this time?"

Tony laughs again, then says with a leer, "Oh, I definitely didn't say _that_. Just didn't know you swung both ways."

"Well it sure as fuck isn't for Tasha's benefit. That'd be a wasted effort," he snorts, then sighs dramatically, patting a hand to his chest. "Aw, hell, now I'm starting to doubt my wiles. I mean we've been trapped in here for like a million years and I don't get so much as an innuendo tossed my very-naked way."

Actually, pouting feels good, now that he thinks about it. There's a little truth under those words, because he's not entirely awful to look at. Mostly. Okay, he's all scars and calluses and raw edges. Not like Tony freakin' Stark's got far to go to find better - like glance across the room not-far. But then again, they're trapped in this stupid box and bored and cold so…

Tony smirks, but he flicks dark eyelashes significantly at the cameras in the corner. A vaguely rueful tinge enters his smirk as he arches an eyebrow at Clint in something like a question where he already expects the answer is no.

Clint just shrugs, laying a wrist to dangle on the edge of an upturned knee and leaning back slightly, exposing significantly more of his body to the room casually (okay maybe he preens a bit) and demonstrating just how few fucks he gives for those sorts of petty details.

"Interesting," Tony hums faintly, dragging his own appreciative gaze down the length of him. Clint enjoys the smirk that spreads over Stark's mouth when his lingering eyes effect a little interested twitch from his displayed dick. Yeah, he'd like a ride on the Tony Stark train. It's on his bucket list. Sue him.

"Got a little exhibitionism kink there, Barton?"

Clint rolls his eyes and says low, "What, like you don't?" smirking as he leans closer, his right knee pressing against one tanned hip. The warmth along his thigh is actually really, really nice. 

"That is an absolutely fair and valid point," Tony replies brightly, unfolding his arms and pushing up onto one elbow. He lifts his other hand to hover in the air between them a moment, then brushes his knuckles along Clint's biceps, a cautious reciprocation and overture.

Though he's tempted, Clint doesn't jump straight to hopping into his lap, instead leaving them facing each other but sitting side by side in case that's not the level Stark wants to take things yet. He'd be perfectly happy just to share some bodyheat with a trusted teammate for a while if that's all said teammate really wants. He stretches an arm across Tony's hips beside his, puts his hand down on the floor so that he's boxing him in a little as he leans down, and Tony's fingers curl around the side of his arm till they're pressing into the more sensitive skin at the back edge, significantly more intimate a touch though he's hardly moved. 

Clint uses his left hand to run up the side of Tony's ribs, brushing his thumb slow and hard around the edge of Tony's nipple, peaked in the cold air. He doesn't linger, slides his hand up to where Tony's elbow's still bent under him and leans closer. Not too close though, not enough to loom or assume his welcome goes that far just yet. They've all got their reasons why being suddenly pinned down can be a very, very bad thing. Besides, he doesn't want to rush this. Slowly, he slides that hand under Tony's shoulder-blade and then back down his spine as he pulls a bit, not enough to lift but a suggestion. A request.

The hand on Clint's arm slides up to his neck and Tony gives the responding signal he'd been hoping for, pulling him down so their upper bodies press together. Tony _is_ cold. The outside edge of the casing of the arc reactor is vaguely cooler than the rest of him and Clint wonders if it doesn't maybe leech heat a little in a cold room. He lets his body cover it, to shield him with warmth, and leans close to press his lips to the peak of his cheekbone, then to the corner of Tony's mouth.

"Jesus, Barton, you're giving me a toothache with all this sweetness," Tony mutters, though Clint can hear something pleased in his voice.

"Hey, just wanted you to know I'll still respect you in the morning," Clint tosses back, and Tony grins, but never let it be said he can't take a hint. He goes in with teeth for Tony's lower lip, giving it a sharp nip and urging Tony's mouth open - not that it needs urging, because Tony opens for him, warm and wet and without hesitation. His tongue slides with a rough drag between Clint's lips to thrust into his mouth and he makes a low, satisfied sound.

"Oh- oh gosh," he hears faintly from somewhere behind him, almost startling him in its unexpectedness. Tony certainly twitches at the utterance, long lashes fluttering just at the edge of Clint's cheekbone where they reach on one side.

Right. They're sharing the room. Cap must have neglected to look away. Oops?

Clint is aware that maybe that somehow ought to matter to him in some way, but he's never had a very good connection with "supposed to". He kisses Tony harder, intent on proving just how skilled he is with all things requiring physical dexterity. Tony hums appreciatively, fingers digging in against his neck, arching his back a little to press into him, hips shifting slightly and Clint feels the soft weight of Tony's dick bumping against his thigh as it fills.

"Uh, fellas…" Cap tries, his voice sounding a little shaky but firm.

Tony grunts and tightens the fingers in the hair on the back of Clint's head enough to pull him back a little, breaking their kiss. Clint makes a soft sound of protest over the sudden lack of mouth-to-mouth, but then he catches sight of a familiar glint in Tony's narrowed eyes he turns Cap's way. Clint sighs, already bored with the inevitable talking that will result from the Steve and Tony merry-go-round. He tilts his head, pulling against the fingers so he can lick the edge of Tony's jaw. Tony obliges him, loosening the hold he has and letting Clint burrow his teeth in at the top of his throat even as he turns his face to address their leader.

"What. You want in?" Tony asks, blunt fingernails scraping slow lines of pleasure into the base of Clint's skull. 

"Wh-No!" Steve blurts, sounding shocked. And also a little like he might be protesting a little too fiercely for someone uninterested.

"Because given that the sealed walls are still sealed, that's the only possible reason I can imagine you thinking it's a good idea to interrupt this right now," Tony continues with, as though he hadn't spoken. "I mean, don't get me wrong, it's a fabulous reason. Even having yet to consult with my partner in crime I'm about 87.3% certain we can find a glorious spot for you somewhere in here."

Clint licks Tony's ear and hums his agreement, skimming an approving hand up Tony's ribs and Tony purrs, "Yeah so, upgrading that probability to a delectable one-point-oh."

"Damnit, Tony, this is-" Steve begins, voice taking on a stern tone, or what would be a stern tone if not for the tiny quiver at the end of his words.

"Listen, oldtimer. Watch. Don't watch. Join us. Don't join us. Sit in the corner and rub one out to the album of our greatest hits, whatever. I seriously don't give a flying fuck. That's all up to you Captain Tightpants. But Steve, so help me, if you even _think_ about trying to spew some vintage queer hate in here -"

Clint smacks a palm to the plane of Tony's thigh, cutting him off. He doesn't miss the breathy little ghost of a moan in Tony's throat at the sharp contact, or the way his hips twitch closer. But it cuts him off, preempting a real argument.

"I know, I know, be nice to the Capsicle," Tony grumbles like a petulant child, though his annoyance has been successfully redirected.

But Clint lifts his head with a huff of a laugh. "Eh, whatever, I'm just starting to feel neglected here." Not that Tony's exactly wrong about the reason he'd interrupted just then. He glances over his shoulder at Cap, who has crossed his arms hard across his chest and turned away again, very pointedly not looking in their direction. But he looks okay. Pissed, but okay, and that's all Clint needs. Satisfied, he turns back to Tony and says quietly, "He got the message. Now pay attention to me."

And having the full attention of Tony Stark is not something many people get, but Clint sure as fuck does shortly thereafter. Tony's eyes cut sharp to his, flickers of surprise and self-directed dissatisfaction and then determination passing through his face. It's not a degree of openness Clint is used to seeing on his face. Want, an intense, aching thing spills into his features as he studies Clint's face, reflective of his own impatient need.

"Yeah, babe, okay," Tony murmurs, stroking inquisitive fingers along the curve of his skull. Then he gets a fresh grip on Clint's hair, hard enough to sting, and hauls them both together with more roughness than required but clearly still not enough to satisfy. 

After that it's a blur of teeth and tongues and bruised lips. Hands that skim and scrape and drag. It might be cold, but Tony's got a very clever tongue and nimble fingers and Clint's no slouch in those departments either. Soon he's feeling the low buzzing heat of arousal throughout his body, his dick swollen stiff where it's trapped between his lap and Tony's lower ribs.

Not wanting to break from the heat of Tony's mouth to look, Clint drops a hand to Tony's lap to check that they're on the same page. Tony's cock is hot and firm under his fingers, veins throbbing vaguely when he curls his hand and drags his fist along the dry length of it. But after the rough scrub in the decontamination showers, both of them haven't any spare moisture to speak of in their skin and the friction is sharper than he'd intended.

Tony jerks his head back with a soft moan, then huffs a laugh and says, "Goddamnit, I am so making a new memo for our favorite G-man about items the Avengers need to have in quarantine. Lube and condoms need to be on that list."

"Aw, shit," Clint mutters, considering their relative positions. "This is just my luck; I finally get a naked Tony Stark in my hands and for once there's not so much as a drop of ill-advised motor oil in sight."

He doesn't particularly _want_ to lay out on the cold floor, but maybe he can…

"Who needs it?" Tony grins at him, then lets him go abruptly, sliding his body down the floor a little ways so that his hips are moving further - 

Oh.

"Optimal position for both body heat and sexytimes," Tony says with a shrug as he shifts over half onto his side and gets his head over Clint's lap with a minimal amount of skin on the plastic-wrapped concrete.

"Have I mentioned lately how sexy that brain of yours is?" Clint says, letting himself fall back eagerly and hooking an arm under Tony's knees to pull them tight together. "Sexy. As. Fuck." 

His free hand goes over Tony's hip, digging in hard as he shifts them and gets his angles right, but Tony beats him to it. Wet heat closes over his dick, swallowing him down like Tony fucking gives head every day and three times before breakfast.

"Fuck," Clint groans into the crease of Tony's hip, but he knows better than to waste time. He gives as good as he gets, always, so he curls his mouth just so to gather moisture and noses his way past neatly-trimmed pubic hair to Tony's dick. He parts his lips, dragging a spit-slick and dripping tongue along the length of him. Tony's got a good thickness to him, so he's going to make sure he's nice and wet before he tries to shove that whole thing in his mouth.

Because that is a thing he's definitely planning on doing. 

He can't help that his eyes flick up to check on Cap, who's standing with his forehead pressed against the wall, eyes screwed tightly shut. Or the cameras overhead, which are watching dispassionately. It's what he does. He notices things. But he's got a job to do, so he turns his attention to the pretty, thick cock in front of him and slides his lips wide enough to take it in.

There's a faint astringent edge to the more human flavors he expects, likely due to the decon shower, but it definitely still tastes like dick, which is good. Very good. He hasn't done this in a while, or at least not from this angle, so he takes more time than Tony, letting his tongue press and test and drag as he fills more and more of his mouth.

He likes taking his time. Tony is, unsurprisingly, less patient.

Tony's hand comes up to pluck at his wrist, dragging Clint's fingers down to touch soft, tousled curls made riotous from the rough soap in decon. Clint is more than happy to take the hint and tangles fingers in dark hair, getting himself a good grip and Tony works his tongue beautifully in response. But that's not all Tony wants. Tony's hand presses hard on his before his fingers drop back down to Clint's hip, squeezing and giving a demonstrative little tug that forces Clint's dick abruptly deeper into his mouth. 

Oh. So it's like that is it? Damn, but for all Tony's luxuries, he's not really terribly surprised. Clint drops a foot back to give himself a little leverage to be able to thrust with, and then does exactly that with a grunt. Tony just fucking takes it. He's fucking Tony fucking Stark's mouth and hot damn. Tony is opening for him with each thrust and a moan that vibrates into a low purr of pleasure the more he tightens the fingers in Tony's hair. 

He has to pull his own mouth away for a moment when Tony does some… thing with his tongue and it sparks right through him, like a reward for pulling on his hair. He groans aloud, mumbling a string of curses interspersed with something to the effect of, "That's right, that's it, just take it. _Fuck_ ," as he yanks harder on Tony's hair and thrusts deep. 

Tony chokes on him but his dick twitches against Clint's cheek with how much he apparently likes the rough handling. Clint's an obliging guy, when he wants to be, so he does it again, harder. Tony chokes again, making a desperate sound and because he's not entirely an asshole, Clint turns his head back and muffles his responding moans around Tony's dick. 

But there's a sharp intake of breath, then Cap spits under his breath, "Mary's tits in a tourniquet."

The vicious swearing is surprising enough that Clint lifts his head with a soft sucking pop to look over. Steve is pressing his elbows and fists against the wall, shoulders a massive line of tensed muscle. His jaw is flexing as he stares at the empty space to the right of them, but his gaze is slowly being dragged back over towards the center of the room, like it's being physically forced on him against his will. 

His eyes meet Clint's unwittingly but then they're locked, ensnared and raging with silent conflict. Even from his lowly vantage, he can see Steve's pupils are blown. That he's breathing fast. Wanting. _Jealous_. Oh yeah, he knows that look.

Because he is kindof that much of an asshole, Clint opens his mouth as Steve watches, and dips his tongue over the bitter-slick head of Tony's cock. He holds Steve's gaze as he slides his mouth slowly down, swallowing Stark once more. And if he moans a little more vocally, takes him a little deeper, well… that's not nearly as blatant as the hand he lifts to grab a solid handful of Stark's ass, giving it a good squeeze before lifting his palm to drop a nice, resounding crack that makes Tony moan like it's the best thing he's ever felt.

A broken sound, something tiny and collapsing is plucked from Steve's throat and his knees give under him. They bend and he slips slowly down the wall into a heap in the corner, his erection clearly visible now, his chest heaving with shallow, almost desperate gasps.

He feels Tony's laugh more than hears it, and the Tony lifts off and says in a raspy voice filthy with sex, "Uh oh. You broke Captain America."

Clint drags fingernails across the handprint on Tony's ass for it. Steve's actually quite possibly in the middle of a legitimate gay panic. A little sympathy is warranted, sure. But Clint's version of sympathy extends to preventing Tony from being too much of a dick. He's not nice enough to do anything about it like stop, because life's a bitch and then you get frozen for seventy years and all your friends die. Shit happens. He'll be nice and talk after. Right now he's busy.

Speaking of asses…

He swipes a finger in some saliva and reaches over Tony's hip. It's not enough lubrication to do much, but a little goes a long way when you know what you're doing. He gets a little teasing rubbing going, just enough to make sensitive skin light up with the touch, and when he gives the furl a hard flick with his fingernail, Tony groans around him, fingers scrabbling blindly over Clint's ribs.

Redirection successfully executed, Clint gets back to work, getting up a steady rhythm of sucking and pressing, never letting up except to get enough space to breathe, and even that's only just a shallow pass every few normal ones. Sex is basically a sport, and Clint is very good at athletics. It doesn't take altogether that much time before Tony's body has begun tensing under his ministrations, his own mouth work on Clint's dick getting a little reckless and a little sloppy every time Clint does something that makes him tremble. 

Knowing he's getting close, Clint concentrates on swallowing as much of Stark as he can without gagging, letting his throat muscles do the work of putting pressure on the hot length of him. He's pretty good at this shit, but deepthroating's not his favorite thing ever so he sticks to what's good for him. Tony, on the other hand, seems to blow right past anything to do with comfort and tightens the grip on Clint's hips, hauling Clint deep and holding him there. He doesn't pull back, throat tight and hot around him. Clint takes hold of his hair again and helps him do it, helps him keep the entirety of Clint's dick shoved down his throat in the way he seems to like it best. 

He goes deep, all the way deep and with Clint's hand on the base of his skull holding him there, Tony can't be breathing now. There's a definite tension growing in his body as his throat convulses around Clint's dick, but he doesn't relent, so Clint redoubles his own efforts with his mouth to try and push him over the edge before he asphyxiates. The angle is awkward but he gets his other hand up to grab Tony's balls and though Tony can't make a sound, he twitches and thrusts when Clint squeezes hard enough it has to hurt.

And that does it. Tony writhes and bitter, salty warmth fills Clint's mouth. After a second Clint drags Tony's head back to allow him a desperate, ragged breath. His fingers are trembling against Clint's side as he gasps through the comedown.

"Fuck," Tony whispers, sounding gratifyingly pleased and more than a little wrecked as Clint gently swallows away the last of his come.

Clint eases back, lets Tony's hips settle back on the floor as the tension melts from his body.

"Just a sec," Tony says, closing his eyes as he catches his breath a little, hand fluttering ineffectually somewhere in the vicinity of his belly.

"Take your time," Clint replies, though his wet, swollen dick protests the loss. Far be it from him to begrudge anyone savoring their comedown. Besides, it's not like he has to stop. Pushing himself up onto one elbow, he feasts his eyes on the sight of Tony Stark, debauched at his hand. Yeah. He's fine taking himself in hand to get the slow, firm touch he needs and just looking his fill.

Tony doesn't leave him alone long, though, blinking open his eyes again and quickly focusing on the sight of Clint slowly jerking himself off next to him. Tony rolls close again, leaning his head into Clint's lap and breathing warm against his skin. His eyes dart up in question.

"Just the head now," Clint murmurs as he slides his fist down to the base and leaves the tip available for sharing.

Tony obliges, mouth going soft and smooth around him. His work-scarred hands run warm and sensual over Clint's thighs and belly, like he gets it, that the gentler touch is actually what does it for Clint best.

It won't take much now, he's so hard. And Tony's mouth is surprisingly soft, his tongue teasing light and fast at the most sensitive ridges. It's completely different than before, the antithesis of the roughness that had been his pleasure. Now it's all smooth layers. The man has clearly put as much effort into developing his expertise in oral sex as he has in physics. Which is to say, approximately a metric fuck-ton.

Clint sighs and sinks into it, twisting his hand in a smooth motion and enjoying the sights, the sensations on the steady climb. He comes when Tony's hand settles on his hip, thumb massaging gentle circles into the sensitive strip of skin at the deliciously intimate join of his thigh and pelvis. His body curls into it, shaking just a little before the release of orgasm spreads through the rest of his frame with awesome thoroughness. Tension spills out of him in a rush of relief that has him sighing soft and smooth.

Tony looks at Clint with sex-lazy eyes and then he pulls away with a lip-licking smirk and rolls to the side. He scoots so he can curl up and slump into the corner of the quarantine box, apparently done with the whole 'eschewing warmth in favor of a rebellious display of skin' thing.

Getting comfortable, Tony sighs, sounding pleased with himself as he smirks at Clint and Clint smirks back. Then his attention shifts and there's a complicated darkening to his expression as he looks away and gazes across the room. Clint follows the path of his eyes over to where Steve is curled up in the opposite corner of the room.

Right. Forgot about that. Steve's got his eyes closed and his head turned away to rest against the wall. His face is tight but neutrally composed, his legs folded close and arms snug across his chest, all his private bits more or less shielded from view. Clint can't tell whether he's ignoring his boner away or if he'd rubbed one out while they were busy, but either way he's closed off.

Clint decides to ignore that particular SNAFU for the time-being since fucking on camera is one thing but private and probably awful conversations about feelings and shit is something he's really not interested in sharing with observers. He's pretty sure Steve is on the same page with that one.

Instead he flops back against the wall beside Tony, savoring the sweat-damp warmth of the skin against his and slinging a companionable arm over Tony's upturned knee.

"So, you like it rough," Clint says, idly curious - or maybe not entirely idly since he's hoping maybe to expand the performance sometime when they've got more relevant supplies. It's been a long while since he fucked anyone that wasn't a stranger and meant to stay that way.

Tony grunts, an edge of amusement underlaid with wariness on his mouth as he glances Clint's way.

"And you like to savor," he replies.

Clint shrugs his agreement. "People like us," he says, meaning _People Who Have Been Through Shit_ and knowing Tony knows that's what he's saying. "Always seems like it's one or the other."

Tony's look is assessing, the post-coital fog beginning to clear from his eyes. 

"I've noticed that too," Tony says, eyelashes flickering as he turns his gaze away and says offhand, "Too bad we're on opposite sides of that one. This was fun."

Clint hums his understanding, because he hears the thread of wistfulness under the words. Recognizes it in himself. "Good way to pass the time though. And yeah, I don't think it'd work as a regular thing for us but, you ever need topped off..."

Tony looks surprised, brows sliding up.

Clint tilts his head. "I don't imagine it's easy to get what you need with just anyone, without someone you trust. Sure as hell ain't for me. So I can be flexible, with someone I trust. Damned few of those around."

Tony pauses, face unreadable as he studies Clint's face, assessing. Slowly his features relax, mouth pulling in consideration and brows drifting up.

"That's... that's a hell of an offer, Barton," Tony murmurs, voice surprisingly sincere.

He notices out of the corner of his eye that Steve opens his eyes when he says, "Hey, it's what are friends for." Oh yeah, totally three birds one arrow. Go Clint. "Besides, I make out pretty well in that deal too."

Tony huffs a laugh, and the smile that he sends Clint is broad and genuine. "That is an entirely valid point. Again. When the hell did you start making so much sense?"

Clint shrugs and leans into his body, closing his eyes and tipping his head back against the wall and enjoying the comfort of a trusted touch. After a moment, Tony does the same. Relaxed. Fuck yeah, he's missed this.

"Hey. You're going to hack the video though, right?"

Tony makes an indignant sound. "Really? You're going to just go and make a liar out of me in under a minute? I take it back, you are entirely birdbrained. That's a stupid-ass question, of course I am. Goddamnit, Barton. Like I'd let anyone else make a profit off our perfectly-toned asses. Listen, let me give you the name of my agent, she'll get you a great deal."

Clint laughs, feeling lighter than he has in a long while. Tony fuckin' Stark. Grinning wide up at the camera, he winks.


	2. Coda 1

Coulson takes a slow breath, allowing himself a small frown as he smooths professionalism and a dash of humility over his annoyance - not all of which the agent in front of him deserves to bear the brunt of.

A significant portion, but not all of it.

He gives the kid a chance to spill his guts, to admit to his mistake, but is entirely unsurprised when the level two field-security agent, who's short career is already one of mediocrity, remains silent. Well. At least he'd been more than fair, giving him the chance to come clean and earn himself a character-building assignment to Siberia instead of termination. 

"Agent Kristoff, are you asserting that this-" Coulson gestures to the single-page report sitting in stark contrast on the empty desk space between them. "-is a complete and sufficient report of the quarantine incident?"

"Sir?" the young agent asks, nervously surprised but quickly plastering a veneer of innocence over his features. As though he really thinks it might work. Or that Coulson hasn't already noted the number of times the man has checked his watch or the door since he'd arrived.

"Well, considering that the video footage from the quarantine chamber was lost to a 'computer error', preventing me from reviewing the observation period myself," Coulson continues easily, tilting his head. "I thought your report would be more complete."

The man across from him swallows nervously, tugging on his SHIELD-issue ball-cap as if it will somehow better cover the awkward balding the young man is experiencing. Steroids really are a horrible life choice, but then, this agent is clearly no stranger to poor choices.

"Well that's just it, Sir, without the video I had to go off memory. But it's all the important-"

He goes abruptly silent as Coulson clears his throat and sets a flash-drive on the desk between them with a click. 

"Did I forget mention that there was more than one attempt to destroy the files?" Phil says with a bemused little smile. It's his favorite, because that's when all but the most oblivious prey realize they're being toyed with by an unexpected predator. "Upon hacking the outpost to erase certain footage, Mr. Stark was surprised to discover that a SHIELD agent had already downloaded the files to a flash drive before the initial deletion."

The agent's face turns abruptly ugly as he gives up the ghost, disgruntled and bitterly so. "What's the big deal, it's not like Stark's not already on youtube."

Coulson folds his hands together and smiles genially. He ignores the half-admission and pulls Field Manual A-14. Flips to section 29.4 Avengers Quarantine Protocols and sets it on the desk between them.

"So again, do you have anything to add to your report before I review?

The Agent stares at him stupidly.

"Well then, if you have no explanations for your dereliction of duty, Agent, it's time to inform you that your employment at the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division has been terminated, effective immediately. Be sure and stop by HR on your way out. I'm afraid the severance package is non-negotiable."

The guy slams to his feet, eyes going wide in panic. "You can't do this, you're just- that thumb drive's a-a plant! You can't prove I did anything-"

At a button-push from Phil, the door to the office swings open and two security officers step inside a moment later.

"Prove anything? Did you do something illegal, Agent?" Coulson says, amusing himself by making a puzzled face. "Well. I'm sure your exit interview will turn up some interesting findings. But to be clear, you've been fired for simply failing to follow orders."

"What?" the guy yelps, looking confused as hell. "I did my shitty job-"

Coulson tsks. "No, Agent, you failed to follow Quarantine Protocol for Avengers personnel. We've been very clear on just how high a priority SHIELD adherence to Avengers-based protocols is. You failed to meet seven of the fifteen regulations," he explains, gesturing to the manual on the desk. "As secondary after-action logistics team leader, it was your responsibility to construct a sufficient quarantine cell. You neglected to do so. The resulting situations could have been avoided entirely had you followed simple instructions. I'm afraid you're just not the sort of agent we need around here."

"I gave S.H.I.E.L.D. ten years of my life and you're throwing it away over a fucking _quarantine_?" 

Phil nods to the security officers, who take an arm each of the yammering agent and guide him out the door. They shut the panel behind them and idly he wonders whether he is, in fact, being too generous by terminating his employment prior to furthering the investigation into the confiscated flash-drive and exacting punitive measures rather than just firing him. Then again, Stark may prove capricious and dole out some of his own retribution. Coulson smiles ruefully at the single-page report that neglects to mention anything at all regarding the unauthorized sexual contact between Agent Barton and Tony Stark.

In contrast, Stark's after-action report had been uncharacteristically thorough and timely, appearing on Coulson's desk before he'd even returned from the mission with the other half of the Avengers. The surprise had baffled Coulson - until he'd come to the gleeful detailing of the quarantine setup's numerous failures, suggested additions, and the more rebellious Avengers' solution to an unacceptable situation. Also it had included a request that Barton be given a commendation for exceptional fellatio skills under fire. 

Phil had not been amused.

Barton's report had been sparser and more professional, with the exception of the inclusion of a scribbled note that's clearly for Coulson which reads, "Sorry, Sir; due to inhumane levels of boredom we might have broken Captain America's brain via exposure to hot gay sex," under the _Collateral Damage_ section.

It's perhaps fortunate for his sanity that the footage had been erased and he'd been forced to rely on the written accounts for his initial review of the mission. He sighs and closes his eyes a moment to swallow back the surge of inappropriate jealousy. Barton's free to do whatever and whoever he wants, and it's a mantra he's had plenty of experience repeating to himself until all his untoward feelings are neatly stacked away. 

Of course, when he opens his eyes, the confiscated flash drive is still sitting prominently on the desk in front of him. He regards the little bit of plastic and finds his hand reaching for it before he's even thought about it. He turns it over in his fingers, thumbing the clasp to reveal the USB connector on reflex.

Well. It's not as though there'd been any expectation of privacy - the Captain America comment had practically been an invitation, in Barton terms. And the agent's report _had_ been woefully incomplete. He wouldn't be doing his job if he didn't gather all relevant data before updating the Avengers Quarantine Protocols, now would he?

No, of course not.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Memo: Avengers Quarantine Procedures](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7450024) by [silkylustre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkylustre/pseuds/silkylustre)




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